


Amok Interludes

by WerewolvesAreReal



Series: Consequences [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Coming Out, Discussions of Suicide, Episode: s02e15 Journey to Babel, Five Year Mission, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Minor Spock/OMC, One Shot Collection, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, s1e29 Operation: Annihilate!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: A number of one-shots occurring between “All Amok” and it's sequel, “Without Reason.”Chapter one: Kirk reflects.Chapter Two: Spock comes out and meets the first marriage-candidate selected by his parents. It's... an interesting experience.Chapter Three: Spock's parents visit the Enterprise for a conference. They also have some questions, because Spock actually forgot that his name has been mentioned in a few court cases recently. (Pre-Journey to Babel)Chapter Four: One Year after All Amok, Spock considers his future.Chapter Five: Nine years post All-Amok. Spock, contemplating a teaching position with Starfleet Academy, meets a newly graduated Vulcan lieutenant he knew as a child.
Relationships: Spock/OMC
Series: Consequences [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798576
Comments: 107
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

After Spock is blinded, Kirk panics. Although he hides it well.

There's no real opportunity to sit down and consider Spock's situation. Nurse Chapel's revelation that ultraviolet light will kill the parasites relieves everyone, and of course Scotty's department gets tasked with the lion's share of work – but Kirk still has plenty to do. There are 3 million people below, trapped and scared. Children starving, unable to understand what's happened to their possessed parents. Injured people abandoned on the streets, deemed useless to the alien contagion. Even assuming Scotty's light-spectrum cure works it probably won't penetrate every dark area on Deneva – which means some of the alien lifeforms will escape.

It's a logistical nightmare. Nevertheless Kirk spends time that he really can't afford looking into the records of blind Starfleet officers. There's an ongoing disaster on Deneva, but in every spare second he finds himself looking at histories for blind computer specialists, blind linguists, historians...

But there's a disaster. It takes priority.

Halfway through Engineering's hasty production of satellites Kirk stops by Sickbay. Inside the lights glow dimly; he can't see any nurses or doctors. Just, Spock lying still and silent against the farthest biobed. In the darkness it looks like he isn't breathing.

He's fine, of course. Of course. But Kirk finds himself clutching the doorway with convulsive hands, struggling to breathe. When a nurse finally wanders out and asks if he's alright Kirk leaves without saying a word. There's an emergency, he reminds himself. Ridiculously, Kirk finds himself clinging to a starship captain's life-or-death work with relief.

Scotty comes through, and by all accounts their satellites are successful – though security and medical will be sweeping the planet for quite awhile, checking for any missed parasites or infected individuals. Kirk's just reading a message from the _USS Rescue,_ sent to assist them, when he's surprised by Spock and McCoy arriving on the bridge.

And Spock _looks_ at him.

“The blindness was temporary, Jim. There's something about his optical nerves which aren't the same as a human's...”

Whatever else Bones says is lost in a rush of euphoria. Spock nods to Kirk, easily taking over for the delighted scientist at his station. They all exchange a few automatic barbs.

It's as though nothing ever happened.

After shift, Kirk returns to his quarters. He remained alert but calm through the whole visit to Deneva. Yet suddenly he feels exhausted, and it's not because of any stress related to the _Rescue's_ schedule or Deneva's ongoing difficulties.

This new, buzzing tension in his body makes it feel like a dozen previous missions that have ended in near-death catastrophes. As though he's spent hours fighting for Spock's life, rather than obsessively looking for records of blind officers.

Maybe that's because, in a way, it felt like Spock's life was at stake.

Kirk calmly pulls out a bottle of whiskey gifted to him by Bones last year. The situation on Deneva is still critical – there are a lot of injured people on the surface – but he indulges in a single drink.

Spock could have died.

Because this isn't just about Spock's sight, or his position on the _Enterprise._ A few months ago he entered Spock's quarters – unable to raise him on the coms – and found his First Officer lying peacefully abed, bleeding out from injuries he gave himself. It haunts his dreams sometimes. And he still wonders what kind of internal suffering he's missed, that Spock not only thought of killing himself but deemed it a logical solution.

Oh, Spock claimed he was ill, that he wasn't thinking straight. He lied. That's obvious. And he's come to Kirk twice since, speaking vaguely of needing company in ways that make it clear he isn't just bored. He needs help. And Kirk can never ask him for details, because he'd have to report it, and god knows Spock would feel even worse if he were forcibly removed from his work. Not to mention the horrible shame of admitting he even has emotions.

It's a mess.

Spock's doing better, or so it seems. It's hard for Kirk to judge – after all, he would have said Spock was perfectly content the day before he found him half-dead. But he likes to _think_ Spock is better.

But what would have happened if Spock had lost his sight?

Maybe he could have kept working – at least as a Science Officer, if Starfleet decided a First Officer needed his vision. But maybe not. And either way, could he have coped with the added stress? Is this something Kirk needs to consider, now – wondering if any tragedy might trigger his First Officer and best friend into suicide?

Hesitantly, he pours another half-drink. It won't impair him, after all.

Spock is his dearest friend. And Kirk's confronted the idea of losing him before. It's horrible to say he's accustomed to the death of friends, but he really is. Even the fresh loss of his brother – which still stabs him, when he thinks of the body in the morgue – doesn't engender the same terror that he feels at the mere _thought_ of losing Spock.

Especially at the idea of losing Spock to his own hand.

The door buzzes; Kirk stashes away the bottle. Exchanges his glass for a cup of water. “Enter.”

It's Bones.

“How's Spock?” is his first question.

This earns him a long, hard look. _“Spock_ is fine,” McCoy emphasizes, throwing himself into the seat next to Kirk with no formality.

Kirk scowls down at his water, disliking his friend's tone. “Good,” he says, lamely. He scrounges for something: “You really didn't know about those second eyelids, Bones?”

“Oh, trust me, I'm having a chat with Spock when this mess is done,” McCoy grumbles. For a moment Kirk hopes he'll get distracted by a rant; but no luck. “How are _you_ doing? Some of the stories I've been hearing from those folk on Deneva could turn my hair gray.''

Kirk eyes McCoy's already-graying hair and wisely doesn't comment. “I've been in contact with the governor, who seems healthy enough. We've formed a grid-search pattern that...“

“I asked _how you're feeling._ Not for your tactical plans, _Captain.”_

Kirk takes a gulp of water to save time. McCoy squints at him.

He relents; it's never worth hiding from Bones, anyway.

“I think Deneva will be fine,” he muses aloud. The bulk of the work is already done, and the Governor has started rounding up healthy individuals to assist the _Enteprise_ in damage-control. “I'm not actually worried about that. It's just...”

“Well?”

“I keep thinking about Spock,” he says, and feels ridiculous. McCoy just keeps watching him. Nothing else. “When he was in Sickbay... when he was _infected,_ even, on that planet, I just – if I let myself dwell on it I could barely even think straight...”

“Jim. I don't know if you want tell me this,” McCoy warns softly.

They all have their own obligations. McCoy, among others, is required to report signs of significant mental distress among the ship's highest officers.

“I just don't understand why it's getting to me,” says Kirk, veering away from any more personal admissions. “This is far from the most dangerous mission we've faced, and Spock's fine, but...”

“When he came back from that planet,” McCoy says, slow and careful, “For a second, Jim, I thought – did he let himself get nabbed on purpose?”

Kirk clenches his jaw. “Spock wouldn't do that.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured,” comes the drawling agreement. “Guess it'd mess up our job, after all, and he wouldn't want _that._ ”

“Bones - “

“It's not a crime to be a bit messed up, Jim. The way you found him, it'd give me damn nightmares. It _does_ give me nightmares.”

Kirk can relate. But he certainly has no intentions to admit it. “Spock's fine,” he reminds his friend. “That's what I can't understand. For god's sake, Bones, on the _USS Siren_ I had to talk down one of my men from suicide, as an Ensign... I barely thought of it a week later. We all go into Starfleet expecting difficulties.”

“Yeah,” agrees McCoy. “We expect accidents, or dramatic dogfights in space, even – but not suicide. And dealing with a friend is always harder with that sort of thing. It's natural to react like this, Jim. If you weren't stressed by what happened I'd call you heartless.”

He would, too. “There's a difference between being concerned and compromised.”

“Compromised, huh?”

Kirk mentally curses his poor phrasing. “Not like you're implying,” he assures, lying through his teeth. McCoy squints. “I just mean – I've seen plenty of friends in dangerous situations. I've probably seen _Spock_ closer to death before. So why...” He stops, rubbing at his temple. It sounds callous to say, _I'm used to death._ But he really is. “I'm not – I can't be affected by something like that.”

“You're allowed to have feelings.”

“No, I'm not,” he counters, feeling absurdly as though he's stepped into Spock's role in one of their Vulcan-human philosophy arguments. “A captain needs to make decisions outside of emotions, Bones. You know that. I can't function if I'm going to fall apart whenever my First Officer gets threatened.”

“You're not going to _fall apart,”_ McCoy scoffs, which just shows that he really hasn't had the time to scrutinize Kirk's behavior lately.

It's not like this business with Deneva is the first time he's been stressed about Spock.

“I suppose it's your job to decide.” Kirk releases his glass, spreading his arms. “Well, Doctor? Am I fit for duty?”

“This ain't an exam.”

“It might as well be.”

“Do you think this is on record? Hell, Jim, I hope I never get as stuffy as that. Yeah, I have to tell Starfleet if you're going to go nuts and order the ship into a black hole. I'm not going to tattle because you're a little shook-up your best friend almost died, and then nearly got _maimed._ By me, I might add.”

Even though, technically, they both know he should report this. Investigate further, at least, to see if Kirk's really in a healthy state of mind.

“I just don't understand,” Kirk repeats, softer. “I can't stop thinking about what could have happened.”

McCoy sighs. Sets aside his drink. “Jim, look. You deal with a lot of hard decisions, hard tragedies – but they're not usually personal. And I'm not saying that you don't take them seriously,” he adds, almost hasty. “But it's not the same thing. Spock getting hurt – it's perfectly normal that you'd be worried. That's all.”

That's all.

As though it's so simple.

Bones can't really understand, Kirk thinks. When Kirk says he was worried, afraid – these words don't convey the depths of the terror he felt. It's not normal, maybe, to love a friend so deeply and desperately. If Spock died Kirk might as well follow. The way they've bonded in the past few years of the mission is unprecedented in Kirk's experience, but he already finds it hard to imagine a future without Spock.

He demurs to Bones, saying that maybe the stress is getting to him. McCoy nods and makes a few gentle hints about grief-counseling. He thinks at least part of this is about George. Of course he does.

The thought is a guilty reminder that he should probably check in with Peter, soon; he hasn't thought about George since this started.

* * *

Part of the problem is that he still doesn't understand Spock's motivations.

He can't ask, because on record, Spock's suicide attempt was spurred by an illness and disorientation. It's an open secret that this isn't true, but Spock will never feel able to confide in him. Kirk would keep his confidence in an instant, but even though he must know this, Spock won't put him in the position of lying to Starfleet.

It's – incredibly frustrating.

Kirk is a problem-solver. When he sees a situation, he needs to intervene. It's a quality every good captain has.

And he's never dealt well with being helpless.

He wants to think that there's something he can do – some singular thing – that could help Spock. He wants to fix the situation with a neat solution – but that's not possible. Here, on Deneva, the destruction of the alien parasites littered a world with sickness, trauma, and famine. The instigators are gone but the symptoms remain. And maybe Spock's situation is similar – healing can't happen all at once.

But that doesn't help Kirk. Because he wants, he _needs_ to do something.

Why is Spock's situation so different, so singular, that he can't think of anything else?

Even if they were separated by duty, Kirk can't imagine a life where he'd fall out of touch with Spock. Their identities have become too intertwined. And if it did happen, that thought still doesn't touch the cold, soul-clenching idea of Spock's death.

Spock dying would be... a devastating loss of potential. Not just for Spock's scientific ingenuity, although there would be something horribly tragic in that, too – a genius snuffed away before he can fully reach his potential. But more than that, Kirk respects his First Officer for his gentle severity, his curious fascination with the universe, his ardent defense of the Federation. McCoy sometimes looks at Jim askance whenever he tries to shield Spock – a lot of people do – but he knows Spock is a gentler soul than many realize. And it's intolerably painful to imagine him _hurt,_ much less removed from life entirely.

Maybe Kirk is a bit too attached. But he's probably past the point where he can change that.

Not that he would want to do so.

Kirk has talked with old friends on different ships who make faces when Kirk mentions his First Officer. People who ask, does it get tiring working with a Vulcan? Doesn't it make you nervous? Doesn't _he_ grate on you -

Kirk has never understood this brand of racism (or any brand of racism). He loves Vulcans because he loves Spock. And it's hard to understand that anyone could feel differently, but terrible and incomprehensible things happen every day, so...

He still can't say why Spock is different than any friend he's had before, except that Spock is... Spock.

Isn't that enough reason?

He wants to help, but all he can do is keep close and hope Spock will trust him enough to reach out.

For just a moment he finds himself thinking: is any friendship worth this sort of fear?

\- Which, alright.

That's definitely a stupid question.

* * *

The next day Kirk surprises Spock with a hug as they discuss the latter's health. Though obviously bemused – Kirk usually tries to be considerate of his Vulcan boundaries – Spock grasps his shoulders back, probably thinking Kirk's excessive emotions stem from grief for his brother.

And, in fairness, he isn't completely wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock comes out and meets the first marriage-candidate selected by his parents. It's... an interesting experience.

In fairness, this conversation is long overdue.

Spock's _pon farr_ was diverted – which only means that it could return at any time. If he is fortunate, he will have a full seven years before the Fever takes him again. If he is unlucky – and, given his unique physiology, this seems highly probable – he could be stricken with the mating-madness much sooner. Months, weeks, even days from now... He has no way of knowing.

The bond with T'Pring broke with Spock's near-death. She has since married. Logically, he needs a new bondmate. And, following tradition, it is his family's duty to make arrangements.

Still – little though he wants his family to run his life, Spock remains uncertain whether he _really_ cares to assume an active role in the process. It seems reasonable that he should personally assess his prospective partners, but he does find appeal in escaping the responsibility of providing intimate descriptions about an ideal mate.

Case in point:

“Am I correct in assuming you would prefer a husband?” Sarek asks.

There is no obvious censure in his tone, but Spock hesitates anyway. Over the transmission call he examines his father's blank expression. But Sarek's face reveals nothing.

Homosexual matches are permitted on Vulcan. But among higher society they are discouraged because they do not contribute to either lasting alliances or bloodlines. Surely his father would prefer if Spock married a woman. In _pon farr_ everyone is attractive – he recalls being tempted by Lieutenant Uhura during his Fever, though she now holds no appeal as a sexual partner. As long as the madness can be satisfied he has no reason to refuse a match.

...But T'Les has recently been suggesting that Spock focus on _good communication_ and _openness._ Stating his opinions, especially in the face of potential judgment. He can never know how people will really respond to a situation, she says, if those scenarios exist only in his mind.

“Yes,” Spock admits. “I would.”

“Very well. I have already found several candidates. I understand your ship will be taking the opportunity soon to dock at Space Station 16?”

Blinking at the non-sequitur: “Yes.”

He does not ask how Sarek knows this.

“Good. One of my colleagues, Sirok, will be attending a conference there for 3.2 weeks. He has conveyed that he would be willing to meet with you to test compatibility.”

...Well. At least Sarek doesn't seem to disapprove?

“That should be possible,” Spock agrees. “If you can forward me his details, I will make arrangements.”

“Of course.”

* * *

In recent months, Spock has noticed both Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy making occasionally _invasive_ overtures. He has been speaking to the mindhealer T'Les for four months now, and in that matter, they do not pry. But perhaps their curiosity needs another outlet – or perhaps the mystery of Spock's suicide attempt compels them to be more forward than before.

Two months ago, Doctor McCoy went on a brief and bewildering crusade to drag Spock along to various theatrical performances on shore leave, apparently thinking this would somehow appeal to his sense of culture. (He gave up after a rather exhausting explanation of a 'comedy,' the plot of which focused around inebriation and 'slapstick' humor.) Six weeks ago Captain Kirk became convinced that Spock needed more socialization, and within the past fortnight has introduced him to half a dozen bemused officers of his acquaintance from various postings.

So this new line of questioning is not _entirely_ unexpected. But it is – irritating.

“I'm not saying you have to run off and get laid,” complains McCoy as they eat in the officer's lounge; a passing ensign does a double-take and nearly runs into a wall. “But would it kill you to _think_ about dating?”

“I have not noticed _you_ taking any romantic partners, Doctor.”

“I'm divorced, that's different. Look at Jim – he doesn't let work get in the way of romance.”

“...That is also not an example I wish to follow.”

Kirk eyes him and huffs. “I know all about the rumors, Spock, but I don't have that many exes,” he insists. Even McCoy pauses with a fork over his casserole. “I – don't, don't look at me like that, Bones. _Spock,_ I know some woman are interested. There was that Leila Kalomi... Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Which is a damn shame,” McCoy interjects. “A lot of women would date you... god knows why. Something in the water.”

“And you can't tell us it's illogical to date,” says Kirk fairly. “Vulcans get married _somehow,_ and your parents must have gone out before they married...”

Spock contemplates explaining that most Vulcan marriages are arranged – and that his mother, coming from a closed orthodox jewish community, was also well-accustomed to the practice and agreed to a very formal courtship. It would be an easy way to divert the conversation.

Instead he takes a sip of his water, then says, “Captain. I am homosexual.”

McCoy gags on his food.

Kirk also pauses with a fork halfway to his mouth. Carefully lowers it. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes.”

“...Well. That. Makes sense.”

“Does it?” McCoy asks, coughing. “What the hell, Spock. What's wrong with you?”

Spock presses his lips together. Kirk whirls around so sharply his chair makes an ominous creaking sound. “Bones!”

“I don't mean like _that,”_ huffs McCoy, irritated. “Just – god, you're going to kill me here.” He coughs again, clearing his throat. “I dragged you down to that strip club on Risa, and you didn't say a word!”

“We held several conversations,” says Spock. “I found the dancers' flexibility fairly impressive.”

“Well you sure didn't say you'd prefer to make bedroom eyes at the bouncer,” McCoy says. “Heck, I'm your doctor! You should have mentioned this sooner!”

Spock makes a noncommittal noise and sips his water.

“No one's given you trouble over it, have they?” Kirk asks.

“...No one is aware,” Spock points out, nonplussed.

“Ah. Right – thank you for telling us.”

McCoy shoots Kirk a disgusted look. “'Thank you,'” he mocks, huffing. “Spock, sometimes I think you wait years to drop these things just for the shock value.” He shakes his head, taking an aggressive bite of dinner.

They eat in silence for several minutes.

Then the doctor pauses, slamming his fork against the table.

“Wait,” McCoy bursts. He thrusts a finger at Spock. “Wait! That - Mudd! That man! And the women!”

Spock blinks.

“The _Venus_ drugs,” McCoy snaps. “All the men aboard were going crazy for those gals of his, and you – you were standing around, smug as can be, telling us off for succumbing to our _illogical human emotions!”_

Kirk hides a cough in his fist.

“Yes,” says Spock.

“You!” McCoy throws his hands in the air, face red. “You weren't immune because you're Vulcan! It's because you're gay! So why were you strutting around mocking everyone - “

“Your emotions were illogical,” Spock reasons. “And, innately, human. I do not see why the specific nature of my immunity is relevant.”

“I'm gonna kill him,” McCoy tells Kirk, who buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. “I mean it this time, that's just – I'm going to _kill_ him - “

“Given your current motivations, I believe that would constitute a 'hate crime,'” Spock offers, and watches with interest as Kirk collapses into laughter.

Well. It wasn't particularly helpful, but Spock thinks this conversation went well anyway.

* * *

Later, the captain invites him to play chess. He asks if Spock had a reason for revealing his sexual preferences.

“Not that you need a reason,” Kirk adds. “But it seemed like an unusual topic for you. Is everything alright?”

The captain is quite perceptive. “It is simply a matter I have been thinking about lately,” Spock concedes. “My family has been... strongly encouraging me to marry.”

Kirk's eyes widen.

This, of course, necessitates a brief explanation of Vulcan marriage practices. Kirk seems relieved – if a bit confused – to learn that he isn't expected to marry a woman. “A satisfactory telepathic bond is the first goal of any arranged marriage,” Spock informs him. “Not children.”

“Oh. That's – interesting. I suppose I've never considered how Vulcans, ah, date?”

It sounds like a question. “Most children are betrothed at the age of seven – as I was. But that bond was broken. The standard practice is to arrange for certified telepathic matchmakers to examine and pair the minds of children from within arranged groupings, which usually tend to be formed from certain social circles.”

“A class system.”

“...Unofficially,” Spock admits. “Though private arrangements happen as well, and the strength of a bond does outweigh other considerations. The child's opinion is not usually required.”

“Really?” Kirk asks, tilting his head to consider the board. He slowly presses forward a rook. “I suppose for children... But not now. You still have some say in the matter, don't you?”

“Naturally. My clan is expected to make arrangements, but the final decision in mine.”

Of course, on Vulcan, it would be considered logical for Spock to look first toward his closest unmarried acquaintances. Anyone given the rare title of _friend_ would be an ideal candidate as a mate.

Kirk looks up. Catches his eyes. Smiles slow and warm, for no particular reason.

Spock moves his knight.

Of course, Spock doesn't have any close Vulcan friends. So the point is moot.

“And of course I could find someone myself,” Spock muses aloud. “Or await a proposition... but as I rarely visit Vulcan, both prospects are difficult.”

“I suppose that's true. You've never considered a human? Or someone from another species?”

Spock keeps his gaze on the chess board. “If the opportunity arose, I would not be averse. But most species in the Federation do not enter marriages of convenience, and there is little use in contemplating hypothetical relationships that cannot be foreseen.”

“I suppose,” Kirk murmurs to himself. He holds a pawn between two fingers, rolling it. “...Of course, the bond sounds important. But it seems a shame you can't marry for love.”

“I am Vulcan,” says Spock. “Your move, Sir.”

* * *

Like many Federation stations, Space Station Sixteen is a hub of trade and recreation. Hovering in orbit around a quiet and relatively new colony-world, the station serves primarily to host people transferring shuttles, resting between trips, or simply pausing to pick up souvenirs or enjoy the on-station facilities.

The starfleet commander heading the station is an older, easy-going man named Lemarc. Commanding an obscure and mostly irrelevant port isn't a posting with much opportunity for advancement, but Lamarc's pleasant amiability probably serves him well for what is, essentially, command of a tourist-trap.

Fortunately, the station does have two real benefits: an excellent repair-dock, and secure trade with two nearby planets that give it ready access to the latest technologies. Scotty is delighted, and Spock feels no compunctions in leaving him to the business of routine upgrades in favor of taking a rare shore-leave along with another third of the crew.

Spock himself rarely takes leave, and when he does it's usually for the freedom of engaging in professional matters outside Starfleet's purview – attending conferences, consulting with specialists. It's the first time in nearly fifteen months that he's bothered to pull out civilian clothes; he catches a few _Enterprise_ crewmen shooting him bemused glances as they all peel away from the transporter bay in different directions.

As he checks the station map Spock reflects that he is, if anything, under-dressed for a first impression. These black robes – inscribed with his clan name in winding silvery script down the side – are usually used for more casual matters.

But then, Spock's clan has different standards for such things when compared to most of Vulcan. The robes he wears now could be considered ridiculously luxurious to many families.

They've arranged to meet at a well-rated restaurant. Despite how Kirk and McCoy might choose to view it, it would be inaccurate to term this night a 'date.' It is a meeting to establish compatibility; closer to a business luncheon, if anything. On Vulcan they would be meeting on the property of Spock's clan. It is an interview, on both sides.

Though it's hard to deny the grandeur of the chosen location. On a colony planet such as this - even one established sixty years ago – luxury sites are never in great abundance. The honey-colored, sweeping walls with their soft sheen, the marble pillars, the intriguingly alien architecture with its shifting floor panels – all of these things boast of influence and wealth. As he's swept inside by an overly-fawning attendant Spock spares a thought to wonder if Sarek's influence helped arrange these reservations. But he finds it unlikely. Asking for such a favor before anything is finalized would leave a poor impression, and it's heard to imagine Sarek would care to have a direct hand in these arrangements without prompting.

Once inside the servers usher him to a small, pleasantly discreet table overlooking a window that shows tended gardens of purple-red grass. Here and there short trees covered in fuzzy seeds sway under a deliberate breeze. Far off he sees the tip of a small, winding stream that must have been artificially created. It's a surprising waste of water for a space station.

More interesting, though, is the table's lone occupant. Dressed in grayish-brown robes of his own, the Vulcan rises immediately as Spock comes into view.

“Spock cha'Sarek?” the man asks. Spock nods. “Live long, and prosper. I am Sirok.”

He extends his hand. Bondmates touch two fingers together. For this – a simple test of compatibility – one is used.

“Peace and long life,” Spock replies, meeting the touch.

Sirok's mind is – not ideal. But not objectionable, either. Any serious issues of telepathic compatibility would be grounds to immediately end the meeting; but Sirok steps back gesturing for Spock to take a seat. They are compatible enough.

Spock sits, hiding his surprise behind a politely expressionless mask. Normally this is where they would pour each other water and exchange ritual words about speaking honestly and truly during any negotiations – but the water is already poured for them, which rather cuts the gesture short.

Finally Sirok says, “Please, sit,” which is perhaps an exceptionally uncomfortably way of replicating the usual greetings into a household.

A server intrudes at that moment, sparing Spock from what would doubtlessly be an further awkward attempts to salvage tradition. Between two males its the duty of the elder to arrange all matters, so Spock sits back and makes no protest as Sirok orders on his behalf. He wouldn't mind anyway, but it is impossible to avoid noticing that Sirok is... _very much_ the elder between them.

Based on the amount of gray in his hair, and the light wrinkling about his face, Sirok must be solidly middle-aged. In fact he looks older than Sarek – which means he must be at least a hundred.

Still. It would be illogical to make any early judgments. Sarek personally recommended Sirok – he must have some logical reason for doing so.

They continue to talk as the server vanishes. Sirok relates the work that has brought him to this section of space – a discussion over the details of a mining contract with a non-Federation member. This explanation derails into what seems like a summary of Sirok's entire career. It might sound impressive to someone lacking Spock's extensive experience with diplomats. As it is, he provides polite noises and asks about Sirok's political views and social life back on Vulcan – both of which, he feels, would provide good information about a prospective mate. But Sirok keeps side-stepping these questions by describing the advantages of his clan estate, his memberships in obscure professional associations. Spock eventually concedes defeat.

This is not to say that Sirok monopolizes the conversation – he asks about Spock's life, too.

“That sounds unnecessarily dangerous,” Sirok mentions when Spock references the _Enterprise's_ latest assignment – a serious but relatively simple task mediating between an interplanetary dispute. Initially only one side requested mediation, and Starfleet predicted a high probability of violent opposition.

“Yet we found that both sides were surprisingly willing to compromise,” Spock explains. “Often such parties are quite eager for war to end – it is only a matter of finding terms to allow them to do so with their dignity intact.”

“It is easy to find patterns where we wish them to exist. As time passes I expect you will discover that there is never logic in war,” Sirok advises seriously. “And on the part of your ship, it still would have been more logical to wait before intervening. Emotional races often must tire themselves before they will concede to the irrationality of conflict.”

But by his own admission Sirok usually works with visitors to Vulcan. This is only his fourth vision off-world, and the other occasions were also brief.

“Though there is some value in traveling. When you return to Vulcan I am sure your experiences will provide many opportunities for research,” Sirok says. “My second spouse was also a scientist – an engineer. She worked off-world for three years in a rather chaotic spaceport on Andor... It was a relief to both of us when she returned, but she was highly-sought by employers afterward.”

“You have married twice?” Spock asks.

Sirok has. His first marriage was with a man named Torran, who died abruptly after eleven year. His recent wife, T'Sai, chose to pursue Kolinahr after a traumatizing encounter with Orion traders that Sirok declines to describe.

Spock has helped capture two Orion ships. He can guess.

“Torran's illness was also procured off-world,” Sirok notes. “I admit that I will feel relief to return to ShiKahr; there are too many unknown variables when one leaves Vulcan.”

Though there are many things Spock might say to this, it would seem rather impolite given the nature of Sirok's confession. Spock instead steers the conversation away.

As the evening progresses Spock wonders more and more over his father's motivations. At this point it seems illogical to continue the pretense of interest; Spock would be well within the bounds of Vulcan etiquette to declare the night a failure and leave right now. But he keeps thinking that there _must_ be a reason Sarek chose this man.

Picking at the last remnants of the (admittedly excellent) dinner, he's a bit startled to find himself disappointed. Perhaps it would be illogical – and idealistic – to think he would find a suitable mate on the first attempt. But Spock didn't even realize he wanted this evening to be a success.

The night does, at least, get a bit more pleasant when Spock realizes Sirok is eager to talk about work; diplomacy is perfectly within Spock's realm of experience, so with his opinion of Sirok already sealed, Spock stops trying to pry and simply listen to his counterpart discuss past assignments.

The ending of the dinner engenders a brief awkwardness. Sirok asks, quite calmly, when Spock would care to “further discuss arrangements between them.” This is not misplaced confidence; it's a fully-expected invitation for Spock to accept or reject his continued attentions.

There are a few politely-neutral answers that would be typical in this situation, and unoffensive; Sirok would assume he wants to consult with his clan, or others, before making a decision. But Spock finds himself not wanting to draw this out.

He does, however, have one question. “May I ask why you agreed to this meeting?”

“For the chance to become your mate,” says Sirok. Perhaps it is a jest. Perhaps he is being literal. After years among humans, Spock finds it difficult to discern the subtleties of Vulcan humor,

“There are other mates who would be easier to sway.”

“Many,” says Sirok, unabashed. “But you are young, intelligent, and attractive. I would be remiss not to make an offer.”

“I see.”

“I did not truly think your clan would arrange a meeting,” Sirok admits. “At my age I did not expect to find an accomplished mate – or such a beautiful one.”

To be clear: Spock is not beautiful. He has heard himself described – on multiple occasions – as gangly, awkward, severe, off-putting, and asymmetrical.

He is not beautiful, and it's illogical for Sirok to suggest otherwise.

He lowers his gaze to the table anyway.

“You do not intend to accept my clan's offer,” Sirok suggests.

“Likely not.”

“I would only ask that you consider the idea for a few days,” Sirok says, which is reasonable enough. Spock nods even as Sirok adds, “Would you care to join me at the hotel tonight? Allow me to take care of you, as I would a mate.”

It is not unknown for unbonded Vulcans to test their sexual compatibility. In fact there is no real reason to refuse, so Spock considers it. Sirok is decently attractive.

Of course, this would seem dishonest when Spock has essentially made his decision.

As though sensing this train of thought Sirok adds, “Whatever the result of this meeting, I have appreciated the opportunity to know you. Your answer will not affect my expectations.”

And...

Well.

Spock _is_ on shore-leave.

* * *

Kirk and McCoy are both very interested in the results of Spock's meeting.

Or, well, Kirk is interested. McCoy tells him it's “downright barbaric, trying to arrange marriages in this day and age.”

“Many cultures find arranged marriage logical,” Spock counters. “If all parties consent, what is the reason for your opposition?”

“It's damned unfeeling is the reason,” says McCoy. “How can you find love in someone picked out by – logic, and numbers?”

Are numbers involved? Spock dismisses the idea as irrelevant; he is not a clan matchmaker. “And do you think it better when humans join together for fleeting romances which, in many cases, end several years later? Vulcan marriages tend to be highly successful.”

“Of course they are – you're all brainwashed to accept a bad deal,” McCoy says. “And don't tell me about divorce. Sometimes people make dumb choices and land with the wrong person, but at least it _is_ a choice and there were some real feelings at the start.”

“...Aren't you yourself divorced, Doctor?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Kirk coughs. “ _That aside._ Spock, how did your date go?”

“This was, of course, a formal meeting. Not a date.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“Additionally, while Sirok was not the most appealing mate, he is quite accomplished. We discussed at length his recent assignments with the Vulcan diplomatic officers.”

McCoy and Kirk exchange glances. “He sounds... respectable,” says Kirk.

Spock deliberately waits until Kirk has sipped his drink to add, “He is also 124 years old.”

It's always interesting to see how humans lose control of their bodies when startled. Kirk dabs at his chin with a napkin, still coughing.

“Then why would your family...? That's creepy as hell,” says McCoy. “Unless you've demonstrated a fetish for geriatrics, or something.”

_“Bones._ Spock, you said he worked with your father? Your parents would want to pick someone they know well, and that probably includes a lot of older colleagues...”

“Perhaps,” says Spock. He thinks rather wistfully of Sirok's surprisingly strong hands. “In any case, I intend to convey a rejection to my clan.”

His friends accept this with some relief; the topic drops. But Spock continues to think of Sirok long after he returns to his quarters.

Staring into the flames of his meditation pot, Spock finds himself again contemplating Sarek's motives. There are reasons, he supposes, for choosing Sirok. As Captain Kirk suggested, Sarek would already have a good idea of the man's personality; but that means he must have known that Sirok is highly attached to his home, and unlikely to travel. He seems like an odd match for a Starfleet officer – unless this is Sarek's way of trying to bring his son back to Vulcan?

Perhaps this is a sign that Spock needs to take a more active role in the search for candidates. Clearly his father cannot be trusted to understand his son's preferences in this matter.

...Or maybe, he thinks ruefully, Sarek has grown impatient with Spock's disinterest in seeking a mate. His father is an excellent politician. Even if the methods he uses to achieve his aims can be frustratingly circuitous.

Or Spock just imagines layers and machinations that do not exist, as usual. It's difficult to judge these matters when he cannot trust his own perceptions. T'Les has made it clear that suspicion compromises his judgment.

He will have to confront Sarek directly – an unpleasant prospect, but necessary. The matter of a bondmate is too important for Spock to continue speculating, and if he intends to take this search seriously, he should probably start looking over the clan's candidates himself. . If nothing else Spock can clarify what traits he seeks in a partner. There are several major factors that should have disqualified Sirok at once – his age, certainly, but also his condescending manner toward Spock, his resistance to travel, his expectations of the future.

In an ideal set of circumstances.. Well, Spock knows who he would take as his mate. But there is no logic in fantasizing about things he cannot have, and anyway, it's probably better to bond with another Vulcan. For numerous reasons.

...Although. While Spock logically needs a mate who understands his career, and should certainly have a mate closer to his age... he thinks he would not mind if his prospective bondmate were a little older than himself. He still feels an odd warmth in his chest, remembering Sirok calling him _beautiful._

And the offer to 'take care of him' was...

\- Well.

Spock may have learned something about himself today.

These things he wants are not 'normal' either. But that is nothing new. Both Vulcan and human social standards tell him that there are some experiences a man should not desire. A man does not need to be held carefully, or treated gently. A man does not imagine a partner who will keep him guarded. Who will name him precious, and be mindful of his weaknesses.

Spock... has always deviated from the norms of society. Perhaps he needs to accept this. There is nothing wrong with being a child of two worlds. There is nothing wrong with having a preference for men, for rejecting his clan's inappropriate selections, for desiring a mate who might let Spock lower his long-held defenses without shame.

He will not bond with Sirok. But Spock appreciates the memory of that awkward dinner for what it taught him.

And as for what happened _after_ the dinner, well...

His future bondmate has some high standards to meet.


	3. Chapter 3

After several months speaking with T'Ves – the mind-healer Dr. McCoy ordered him to visit on Vulcan – Spock can admit to himself that he suffers from a number of distressing psychological issues, including most notably a tendency for suicidal ideation.

Through meditation, discussion with T'Ves, and a variety of new cognitive habits, these thoughts have lessened. But now when the idea does occur – when Spock finds himself thinking of how easy it would be to step outside an airlock, steal a phaser, eat food poisonous to Vulcanoid life - he recognizes the impulse.

Sometimes, often for no particular reason, he wants to die. He wants to cease existing so he does not have to deal with his troublesome reflections, the stress of decisions in Starfleet, the odd sense of inadequacy that persists even when he's accepting praise and acclamations. The loneliness that he felt so keenly as a child, and which never seems to fully dissipate, even when surrounded by friends. This is not new, and in fact these instances become less and less common as his session with T'Ves continue. But, conversely, they also seem stronger. Because as Spock learns to accept his mental deviancies, he finds it harder to deny those impulses. It is illogical to ignore what exists. With acknowledgment comes temptation, and Spock is an imperfect being. It seems inevitable that he will succumb.

But surely he was not always 'depressed' – to use the unfortunate clinical term. Did he hate himself as a child? Was he so desperate to escape? But maybe he only channeled those urges in a different direction. He escaped Vulcan itself, after all, by abandoning his birth-planet for Starfleet. But his internal struggles couldn't be left behind as easily as that planet.

Spock finds himself reflecting on this as he stands at attention in the Enterprise's shuttle bay. In the past few weeks the _Enterprise_ has picked up dozens of politicians in anticipation of the Coridan admission debates. Vulcan, as with many matters, has been at the forefront of the discussion. So Spock has been thoroughly – and unnecessarily – prepped beforehand, and now stands in the shuttlebay stiff and solemn in his dress blues.

“Show me that Vulcan greeting again,” McCoy mutters next to him. Spock obliges with the _ta'al;_ McCoy scowls as he struggles to spread his own figures in the correct gesture.

Lips twitching, Kirk warns, “Here they are.”

Spock straights, watching closely as the shuttle approaches. It takes long moment before the door opens; he breathes slowly. If his parents prefer to act professionally, that would be quite understandable.

But...

Spock half expects the squeezing hug his mother administers as soon as she steps out of the shuttle. But even she pulls back with an expression of open surprise when Sarek lays a hand – very awkwardly – on Spock's shoulder.

His father's strange mental state evidently persisted after Spock's departure. Maybe he's just gotten more tactile in his old age.

Kirk and McCoy – both assembled in their finest dress uniforms to greet the ambassador's shuttle, as they've all stood by to greet dozens of diplomats in the past two weeks – watch this exchange with raised eyebrows. Perhaps Spock should have mentioned his relationship with the Vulcan representatives earlier, but in his defense, he'd expected Sarek and Amanda to be more professional than this show of effusive affection.

Also – Kirk makes a very interesting expression when Spock introduces them as his parents. So it was probably best to keep this secret.

* * *

Spock is naturally selected to lead Sarek and Amanda on a brief tour of the ship. Amanda asks a great many questions – many of them odd and irreverent, like, “Oh, a garden – do you have any favorite flowers here?” But Sarek trails after them silently.

Spock naturally assumes this to be a part of his father's general disdain toward Spock's career choice. Then he reconsiders; T'Les is always telling him not to make negative assumptions.

Maybe he is tired. Or Amanda is asking the questions they're both thinking.

(Maybe he doesn't want to talk with Spock?)

He notices Sarek watching him closely.

Spock tries to ignore this until his mother's hints that Spock should join them for a 'private chat' become impossible to ignore. For the first time Spock notices the tension behind her smile.

Is it possibly that Sarek's revealed the reason for Spock's recent visit to Vulcan? This thought – and the unpleasant possibility of a public confrontation – spurs him into cutting the tour short. When Spock shows them the guest quarters Amanda tugs him inside without pause.

“While you're here,” Amanda begins, as though Spock has made a casual visit to their house rather than have his workplace violated, “Did you have any – personal news – you wanted to share with us?”

It's the same tone of voice she'd use in his childhood, when she'd say things like “Are you _really sure_ you didn't borrow Sarek's padd?”

It's a tone that assumes guilt, deserved or not. The fact that Spock usually was _not_ guilty of he things Amanda decided he was never seemed to make a difference, and now long-held habit silences Spock.

Unexpectedly, Sarek clarifies, “A colleague brought to our attention a total of seven recent court-cases surrounding you; four are still ongoing. In each instance the relevant crimes were committed during your youth.”

Ah.

Well, he knew they'd encountered at least one or two of the cases. Months ago during his healing-melds with T'Les, the healer decided several of his youthful memories – instances where teachers or instructors behaved in a prejudiced fashion – obligated her to make a legal report.

Sarek messaged him demanding answers about the trials nearly two months ago. Since then Spock kept his answers as vague as possible, and it's true that he expected some minor curiosity. Four of the Vulcan instructors from his childhood are still being charged, their fates not yet decided.

Spock's unsure how he should respond to this topic. But he does, genuinely, think it's absurd for his parents to express worry. Where was this concern when he was six, telling his father that the meditation instructor said he was incapable of learning? When he was ten, telling his mother he could not walk to school that day, because he couldn't face his classmates after the previous week's ominous threats? She'd laughed and chided him for illogic, and Spock came home that night with a bloodied lip and scuffed palms that no one noticed.

Spock is an adult, a Starfleet officer. It is too late for his parents to fuss over long-healed bruises and neglect. He doesn't understand why they feel the need to make these gestures.

Yet given that this mission will last several weeks, Spock doubts the matter can be avoided.

“I can't believe you never told us about those things,” Amanda says, touching his arm. “We were completely shocked, Spock.”

Spock glances at his father, who neither agrees nor disagrees. “I apologize that you learned through the news,” Spock says, dutiful. It must have been embarrassing to learn about their son through the gossip of strangers.

(Of course, they could have learned twenty years ago - )

“What I read – I mean, they didn't have details of course, but some of those charges were horrible,” says Amanda. She's so earnest it hurts. “You never could just talk to us, could you? Always so proud - “ She squeezes his arm. “Stop hiding your feelings. We want to know what happened from _you,_ not the papers. I don't think that's unreasonable.”

There's a thread of genuine concern in her voice. And it's not that Spock disbelieves her, exactly – but the grip on his arm is not soft or comforting. His friends have touched him enough, these recent years, for Spock to recognize the difference between a concerned hand and the authoritative touch of a politician, the hungry clutch of a reporter – someone who wants to hoard his words for the shear sake of entitlement to his secrets.

He's not sure why it makes him angry. It's an illogical response, and he'll have to think about that, later. Spock does not want to display emotion in front of his father – he _never_ wants to display emotion – but his voice becomes cold as he replies, “It would have been more logical to make your inquiries when I was a child, Mother.”

Amanda draws back, face twisting with hurt. “That is unkind,” Sarek tells him.

To this Spock only says, “Truth often is.”

* * *

“You _might_ have mentioned that the Vulcan ambassador was your daddy,” McCoy scowls. “We looked like a damn pair of fools this morning.”

“I don't see how your general demeanor has anything to do with me,” Spock dismisses.

McCoy turns to Kirk. “You hear this nonsense?”

They're talking in one of the less-used break room in the lower levels. All the other crew – clearly unnerved by this sudden imposition – quickly cleared the area, leaving them alone. At least for the moment. With so many politicians on the ship, _someone_ will demand their time soon enough, but Kirk clearly has no intentions of making it easy.

Kirk clears his throat. “Is there a _reason_ you didn't mention them, Spock? We discussed the Vulcan retinue's lodgings last week – you could have said something.”

“It did not seem relevant.” A beat. “Additionally, I expected them to act with more – professionalism.”

“...You thought they'd, what? Act like random diplomats?”

“Essentially.”

Kirk frowns. McCoy squints at him.

“You _have_ talked to your parents since you... visited Vulcan. Haven't you?”

Since you tried to kill yourself.

“They have sent a few messages,” which Spock did not bother answering; he knew he'd see them soon, after all.

“Why do I get the feeling you weren't just sending pretty little postcards,” McCoy deadpans.

Kirk opens his mouth, brow still furrowed. But they're interrupted by a shrill whistle. _“Bridge to Captain Kirk._ ”

Kirk briefly leans forward to rest his head against the table – a piece of dramatics he wouldn't show, if the room hadn't already emptied of all other officers. McCoy pats his arm mockingly as Kirk rises to answer.

“Kirk here.”

_“Captain. Ambassador Elenka is..._ repeatedly... _requesting your assistance with a dispute on Deck 13. Their argument seems to be blocking one of the halls...”_

“On my way,” says Kirk pleasantly, even as he shakes his fist toward the intraship comm-panel.

McCoy twitches his lips into a little smirk as Kirk leaves. But the smile fades quickly. “Hey,” he interrupts before Spock can leave as well, “Hold on a sec. I've been meaning to catch you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock leans back in his chair. “Yes?”

McCoy looks put-out – as though he'd wanted Spock to argue. “Right... look,” says McCoy. “I'm, uh. It's not really my business, how you get on with your parents. But, uh – I was the one who called Ambassador Sarek, you know. Back before that inauguration ceremony on Altair VI.”

Again, he means: back when Spock attempted to commit suicide.

“Yes,” says Spock. “Which is understandable, under the circumstances. Though I hope you do not intend to reveal anything else.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “I ain't gonna blab to your parents about your antidepressants, or whatever,” he says. Spock is not actually taking any such medication, as McCoy well knows. His body reacts so poorly to so many substances that the debatable merits of 'anti-depressants' are outweighed by the fact that his brain is neither Vulcan nor human. After a few disastrous attempts it was quickly concluded that it's probably best not to interfere with his body chemistry more than necessary. “I'm just saying – I know it ain't my business, but no grown man wants his parents sniffing around his workplace. So, just – let me know if you if you need some interference, alright?”

“Are you asking due to genuine interest, doctor, or is this some attempt to evaluate my mindset?” asks Spock coolly.

McCoy doesn't rise to the bait. “Don't see why it can't be both,” he says. “Like I said, it ain't really my business. You don't wanna explain your problems with your parents, fine. But as Chief Medical Officer part of my job is watching out for morale, so – you say the word, I'll keep them so distracted with imaginary health issues they'll never see the outside of their quarters. Maybe throw in a quarantine for kicks.”

“That is a serious abuse of privileges.”

“Yeah, it is, so you might try being appreciative.” McCoy claps him on the back, a little harder than necessary. “Don't worry. I hear Chapel's decided to try talking you up to 'em.”

Considering the direction of Chapel's attentions, this is not reassuring. Spock tries to keep his expression neutral, but judging by the way McCoy's grin widens he is not wholly successful.

Well. He already knew this mission would be terrible.

* * *

Spock's parents insist on eating with him that night. Because of course they do.

Spock does not actually have a plethora of spare time – like Kirk, his skills are in constant demand from the many, _many_ diplomats aboard. But Sarek invites him in public, and Scotty waves him away with so many cheerful assurances that it would be blatantly rude to refuse.

Spock keeps intending to foster better relations with his parents. Spock reminds himself of this fact, repeatedly, as he sits across from the pair. His mother, at least, seems blithely prepared to pretend their earlier conversation never happened.

Across the room an ensign demonstrating something to her friends trips on a chair and falls into a crewman's lap. A burst of laughter follows.

“So!” says Amanda. She's smiling widely; Spock averts his eyes. “I met this charming young lady today - “

“Wife,” Sarek sighs.

“Oh, yes, that's right.” Amanda lowers her voice, conspiratorially. “You'd much prefer that fine _captain,_ wouldn't you?”

“...No,” Spock lies.

Amanda hums knowingly. Sarek seems deeply invested in examining his fried eggplant.

They speak for a few minutes of tedious things – there's not much family news for Spock to learn, given that he visited Vulcan just a few months ago. Eventually an awkward silence falls. It persists a few minutes until Sarek says, “I spoke with Sirok recently. He was quite disappointed with your refusal.”

Spock waits.

“Was there a reason you didn't like him?” Amanda prompts.

“I did not 'dislike' him,” Spock corrects. “His age, and his personal lifestyle preferences, made him unsuitable.”

“Oh. Well, that's too bad.”

Amanda tucks back into her food, apparently content with his answer.

“...Why did you approach him at all?” Spock has to know. He's wondered ever since he actually met Sirok – one of Sarek's _older_ colleagues at 124 years.

“Well, we know him very well,” Amanda says. “We've had him over for dinner before; he's a good man.”

“That does not indicate anything about his desirability as a bondmate,” Spock points out.

Amanda sighs like he's missing the point. “Why do you think we selected him?” Sarek asks.

It sounds like a test. Spock reminds himself again he's probably projecting. “He is part of an allied clan,” he lists aloud. “He has a respectable career, and due to my diplomatic endeavors in Starfleet we could find common points of interest through work.”

“These things are true – but you are correct in saying that they are not sufficient reasons,” Sarek says. “I recommended Sirok because, as his colleague, I have observed his interactions for years. He was very affectionate with both his bondmates, and always prioritized their needs. That was my primary reason.”

“...I see,” says Spock after a long silence.

He doesn't know how else to respond.

“Also, I've always found him _very_ nice to look at,” says Amanda. To Sarek's stern glance, she adds innocently, “As a prospective son-in-law, of course, my husband.”

“Of course,” Sarek says, dry as dust.

* * *

Afterward, Sarek wants to speak with him in private.

Amanda doesn't mind – she seems pleased to let them 'bond.' So Spock reluctantly leads his father to his quarters, where it's impossible not to notice Sarek's slow assessment of the room. The curtains around his bed, the Vulcan idols – the ancestral knives on his wall.

“I'd wondered if you disposed of those,” Sarek comments, glancing at them. As though Spock would be so careless with priceless family heirlooms.

“You wished to discuss something?” Spock prompts.

“Yes. First, however; I feel obligated to note that you seem uncomfortable with our presence on this assignment.”

Spock does not see how Sarek is _obligated_ to air such an obvious thing. “It would be illogical to be uncomfortable.”

Sarek tilts his head. But he doesn't contradict Spock.

“I am aware that your career has proceeded well,” Sarek says. “Your contributions in multiple fields... physics, botany, chemistry, biology... have caused extreme interest.” A beat. “Even at the Vulcan Science Academy. Have you considered returning home?”

“I have only made such substantial contributions due to my position in Starfleet.”

“I disagree,” comes the simple reply.

Spock doesn't know what to say. This is almost a – compliment? Is that what's happening?

“I know you do not want me to advance my career in Starfleet,” Spock begins.

“I disagree with your path,” Sarek interrupts. “And I do believe you will understand that, in time. Starfleet is a dangerous organization. It encourages violence against Federation neighbors. And your scientific skills would be better utilized elsewhere. But we have reached a grave misunderstanding if you believe I would wish you to fare poorly here.”

Said aloud, that last part does seem evident – even if Spock must disagree with his father's rather isolationist views toward Starfleet. He's unsure how to respond.

“You are still very young,” Sarek adds. His voice seems softer. “You will understand, eventually.”

As a child, before he knew control, such statements always filled Spock with a helpless anger. _You will understand when you are older_ was simply a way to dismiss his opinions, to render all his arguments and logic irrelevant. He was young, and therefore wrong, and that was not something he could change.

Spock is not a child. And he knows how wrong it is, to equate age with wisdom.

“There was something _else_ you wished to discuss, Father?”

Sarek sighs. “Yes. There is one more thing I wished to say. The court cases we discussed – I understand one of your teachers was prosecuted for telepathic intrusion.”

_I understand._ Not, 'did this happen to you.' It is an oddly passive way to approach the subject, and uncharacteristic of Sarek's usual blunt approach. Spock raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he confirms.

“And it was discovered that your memories had been altered – that happy memories from your childhood were distorted.”

_Happy._ No euphemism, no 'pleasant' or 'content' -

T'Les would probably tell him to stop overanalyzing.

“Yes,” says Spock.

He still remembers those destructive sessions – an old, severe Vulcan guest-instructor at his school, a closed room. A man peeling through his mind, supposedly showing him how to meld, secretly mutilating him.

For Spock's own benefit, supposedly.

“Were these memories retrieved successfully by your mindhealer?”

“Most of them were not.”

Sarek nods like this is expected. It probably is; memory disruption is a notoriously damaging thing. “Then I would propose to meld with you. I would like to see what is missing, and offer you my own perspective.”

Spock hides his surprise. A meld is not offered lightly, under any circumstances; and what Sarek proposes would be a long and laborious exchange. More than that, though, Spock remembers the circumstances of their last meld.

How his father recoiled, afterward. How he regarded Spock with horror – and regret.

“It may be difficult to locate those memories,” Spock says at last.

“Then you lose nothing by trying.”

“I have lived without those memories so far, without harm.”

“Given the circumstances of your last visit to Vulcan I believe that is debatable. You may refuse, of course.”

But Spock wants to say yes. During the last meld it was admittedly painful to see Sarek's perspective – but it was illuminating, too. Out-of-body memories still haunt him sometimes, and he privately marvels to remember Sarek feeling _fond,_ protective, accepting of his adolescent self.

This meld might not be the same. It might be the opposite. But Spock, eventually, accepts.

So Sarek touches his face, and they fall together into memory.

Sarek prods at the empty-places, the blank spots blemishing the smooth and perfect recall of a Vulcan-trained mind. Like T'Les before him, Sarek cannot restore these destroyed spaces. But he can match the times and resonances to his own mind and offer an outsider's look at what might be missing. A foreign perspective blends over Spock:

Spock was three, and his human aunts on Earth cooed over him, touching his ears. One reached out with wiggling fingers to tickle his stomach. He laughed -

(But why would any mind-healer remove that? What is the harm in a toddler's laughter?)

Sarek watched as a litter of kittens teetered around four-year-old Spock, crying piteously and tumbling over him on staggering legs. The infant watched them with wide, solemn eyes, mouth slightly open, and reached out to tentatively stroke a soft calico -

(Why was this considered a weakness?)

Flickers of memory skip by, identified haltingly by the blank patches among Spock's perfect recollections. Somehow Sarek fills them all in: his fourth birthday, when Amanda kissed him on the nose and insisted on presenting a carrot-cake to a dubious Spock. Listening to Sybok tell increasingly ridiculous stories at the table, trying to break Spock's newly-won logical disciplines to make him laugh. Sitting on the roof at night, as Sarek calmly pointed out the stars -

There is no common thread except simple, uncomplicated joy. A happiness that some Vulcan, long ago, decided was deleterious to Spock's mental controls.

And each memory is pleasant, colored as they are with a shadow of Sarek's fondness as he felt in each moment. Each one is also exquisitely painful, as Spock wonders why, why were these things taken from him.

He wonders: when did he _stop_ being happy?

One particular memory takes the forefront. It was a family visit to Vulcan's sole ocean. It was the first time Spock had viewed so much water – water that stretched out and vanished into the horizon, gray and roiling and vast.

He'd been only five, and the experience was so strange that Spock stood on his toes, then kept jumping, indignantly certain that the land on the other side _must_ be visible. Finally Sarek picked him up – Amanda was too preoccupied laughing – and raised him higher so he could see that the ocean continued, that there was no trick. Spock bristled like an offended cat as Sarek rattled off facts and statistics about the size of Vulcan's ocean.

“It is _illogical,”_ Spock concluded at the end.

Sarek asked him why. Spock said, “It does not need to exist. The remainder of the planet is fine without such superfluous amounts of water.” Superfluous was a word he had just learned, and he sounded it out carefully, sneaking a glance at Sarek to ensure he used it correctly. “And it is unattractive.”

“Unattractive?” his father asked.

“It looks _wet,”_ said five-year-old Spock, petulant.

His father – almost smiled?

It was just a small curve of his lips, a certain glint in his eye – and then he held Spock in his arms, pressing him close.

“...It is wet,” Sarek agreed peacefully. And to baby-Spock's horror he immediately stepped into the ocean. That miniscule curve of his lips seemed to become bigger and bigger as Sarek's son demanded to get out, get out, and then Sarek kissed him on the forehead...

As Spock comes out of the meld with Amanda's laughter ringing in his mind, he's horrified to find his eyes burning.

He closes his eyes; it doesn't help. A single tear escapes, and with it he can feel his body shaking, trembling.

Poor emotional control is a frequent symptom of melds. It doesn't mean anything.

It _doesn't._

Sarek does not hug him. He carefully places his hands on Spock's shoulders, though, bracing him like a bulwark in a storm as Spock shudders convulsively. Mortified beyond words – and far beyond the ability to look his father in the eyes – Spock ducks his face against Sarek's shoulder, trying to will his trembling to stop.

He fails. Of course. But Sarek just stands still and silent, his hands warm. Through their connecting skin Spock can still feel wisps of thought, discomfort. He pulls away after only a few seconds and Sarek hastily steps back.

Not acceptance, but not a rejection, either.

Somehow this only makes his chest hurt more, even as Spock restores his control. So close. So close, but never quite connecting. The distant memory of that beach and its sunshine seems impossibly far away.

Maybe he's never had 'control'; maybe he just lost the ability to feel happy. Maybe Spock and his father are not capable of such easy love anymore, and that thought hurts worst of all.

* * *

Spock avoids his parents as much as he can during the formal activities of the next few days. Then a man lies dead, his father accused of murder, ill. Captain Kirk, injured.

His mother demands that Spock ignore his duties – that he ignores the ship. When he points out her illogic she slaps him.

She does not regret it, and even after Kirk tricks Spock – even after he assists McCoy's surgery, and his father lives – she does not apologize for this. Nor for calling him 'heartless.'

Spock thinks about these things as he sits in Sickbay – dangerously low on blood – with his father in the next biobed. When Amanda talks to Spock she smiles. Like nothing happened between them. Like he is meant to forget her anger and disdain, as was always expected of him as a child.

With the assistance of T'Les' sessions Spock no longer thinks his parents are precisely _ashamed_ of him. But he is not, he thinks, what either of them expected from a child. What either of them _wanted_ from a child. And it shows.

Sarek will never be comfortable with his human vulnerabilities. His mother may always consider him alien, unfeeling, despite everything she tries to say to the contrary. Spock is still not sure if this is a flaw in them or him, but he has the choice to live with these unchangeable facts or avoid his parents entirely.

The meld already feels like a distant dream. He wonders if this distance started when he stopped being an infant, babbling and shapeless, and they realized he was taking a form alien to both of them. Yet now he is an adult, out of their responsibility, and they still want so much he cannot give.

He watches as, across the room, Amanda reaches out to hold her husband's hand. And Sarek allows it, squeezing her fingers in a clearly affectionate gesture.

Spock closes his eyes and leans back so he doesn't have to watch.

Perhaps his relationship with his parents is worth this struggle; perhaps not. But some small part of him continues to hope that things will improve, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Maybe that's his human side showing again.

Maybe not.


	4. Chapter 4

Specimen the cat hurries over and paws at Spock's ankle the second he steps into his quarters. Spock absently scoops her into his arms, still distracted by the conversation he overheard.

He steps into his quarters. Sinks down, in a quasi-meditation pose, in front of the bed. Specimen nudges against his chest and prevents him from descending into proper meditation, but he can still reflect.

A basic Vulcan technique: contemplate your feelings. Examine them. Understand them, so they can be put aside.

What is he feeling?

Shame. Guilt. Grief. Anger.

Anger?

Yes.

He'd been walking toward the arboretum when he overheard two off-duty ensigns talking around the corner. One was talking about a cousin back on earth. “She's already out of the hospital,” the woman said.

Her friend said, “What, already? It's only been two days, what if she tries again?”

“Well, the staff wouldn't have released her unless she was cured,” the first woman reasoned. “So she can't be suicidal anymore.”

They moved on. And so did Spock, except instead of continuing toward the arboretum he is here, feeling –

Feeling -

Examine his feelings. _Shame_. Because – he is not 'cured?' Because he should be?

He highly doubts Ensign Miles' cousin is 'cured,' either.

Guilt – for making people worry? For not doing better, for _being like this -_

Unhelpful. And in any case, it's been nearly a year since Altair. Spock isn't suicidal anymore.

Of course he isn't.

Grief. He struggles with this one, but eventually decides it is grief for himself – for his past self, past hurts. Grief for a better future, a more _content_ version of himself, which does not exist.

Illogical, and also unhelpful.

Anger. Anger, because people acts like being suicidal is something that can be cured. Like it is an unfortunate, temporary sickness caused by a virus or chemical imbalance, and is not at this point a symptom of Spock's aggregate life experiences, his personality.

At some point 'suicidal' has become not a symptom, but simply a description of who-he-is. And Spock, better than anyone, knows you cannot cure a person of their identity.

Despite all efforts to the contrary.

* * *

“I haven't seen you much lately,” says Kirk. “Busy on a project? McCoy's been complaining about a string of injuries from the labs.”

“A minor matter,” says Spock, “Resulting from a chemical reaction that was, unfortunately, more combustible than expected.”

Kirk nods. He doesn't seem terribly interested, and the conversation quickly moves on to whether their last mission should be termed successful, and if Lieutenant Uhura's underlings in communication should retrieve more training geared toward First-Contact missions.

Spock finds it difficult to focus on the conversation. He absently agrees with Kirk's ranting about Starfleet's recent heavy mission-list, and only tunes back in when Kirk says, “Well, I'm glad. You really should take leave more often, Spock.”

Spock blinks. With perfect memory, he recalls the recent conversation. Oh, yes. He did just agree that he's taking shoreleave. “...it will be a good opportunity to attend to some personal projects,” he tries to salvage.

“I think you should try visiting the planet,” Kirk steamrolls cheerily.

“There is nothing on Risa to interest me, Captain.”

“On the entire planet? I think that just means you haven't looked hard enough.”

Rude. “I would prefer to continue my duties as usual - “

“Sign up for shore-leave,” Kirk instructs. There's a bit less humor in his tone, now. “You can consider that an order, if necessary. Everyone needs a break sometimes. Even if you just stay on board and – meditate, or read... you deserve a rest.”

This curbs Spock's usual reply – which would be that Vulcans do not need 'recreational' periods, only sufficient rest.

Still.

“Have I been functioning poorly, Sir?”

“Your performance is as perfect as always,” says Kirk. “But there's more to life than work, you know.”

Kirk is called away shortly after.

So Spock is left alone. He returns to his quarters, where he reluctantly signs himself up for two days leave.

Specimen tries to attract his attention, but Spock finds himself unable to sit still. He stands up. He considers going to the gym. Walking around the arboretum. Pacing the ship, even, or giving a surprise inspection.

There's a horrible, restless energy in him. His chest aches. And no matter how much he thinks, no course of action sounds appealing. Except maybe sitting flat on the floor of his quarters and giving himself over to emotion – which is one thing he can never do.

Spock clenches his fingers over his arms, waiting until his nails leave throbbing white indents in his skin. When he lets go blood returns and flushes the marks with color.

He repeats this again, again, until his arm is pricked with aching marks. The pain helps quell a little of his racing blood. But it's not enough.

Maybe he needs to meditate.

* * *

Spock does not, as it happens, get a chance to meditate more than an hour; McCoy subsequently harasses Spock into joining him and Kirk for shoreleave.

“Can't get any good alcohol on this ship,” McCoy says.

“That is unsurprising,” Spock sighs, allowing himself to be jostled into place on the transporter. Across the room Mr. Scott grins at them. “Considering alcohol is _banned_ aboard this ship, Doctor.”

“Anything I keep is medicinal.”

“Then I certainly hope it is logged in ship's stores.”

McCoy ignores this. “You ever even had a drink, Spock?”

“Alcohol has little to no effect on Vulcans.”

A blue glow washes over them. When Kirk replies they're already standing in front of the bar lounge. “I don't think that's an answer, Spock.”

“That is true,” says Spock, serenely leading the way inside.

They get a corner table. In truth, Spock finds the human propensity toward alcohol extremely illogical, in much the same way that overindulging in sweets, skydiving, and temporary romantic interludes are illogical. It is the exchange of momentary physical pleasure for serious health risks down the line. No Vulcan would choose to risk their bodies in such a fashion.

McCoy orders a bourbon. Kirk decides to try a local specialty. Spock randomly selects a fizzy, neon-orange concoction with such a high alcohol content that his friends regard him skeptically.

Then the drinks arrive.

McCoy sputters. “You're supposed to _sip_ it, Spock! Not gulp down half a glass at a time.”

“Alcohol has little effect on Vulcans,” Spock repeats.

McCoy rolls his eyes, but the conversation moves on.

Spock continues sipping at a myriad of drinks over the night; each one tastes less pleasant than the last. Some of the sweeter ones mostly mask the foul taste, though. It's a pity that the Vulcan palate responds so poorly to sweets.

He becomes aware, while drinking a vaguely bitter beverage from Andor, that his head feels a bit numb. When he drinks a sugar-laden, chocolaty drink from Earth, he realizes the sensation has spread to his fingers.

He stares down at his hands, fascinated, wriggling his fingers and bouncing them against the table to better contemplate this feeling.

“...You alright there, Spock?”

Spock blinks up at his friends. Kirk quirks an eyebrow at him, smiling faintly.

It's a very nice smile. Which is illogical.

Oh - he should answer. “Yes,” he decides. For some reason McCoy snickers.

There is no use trying to attribute logic to McCoy, so he doesn't bother wondering.

“Have some water,” Kirk says.

On Vulcan it's a standard courtesy to provide water for a friend; Spock allows Kirk to pour him a large glass, thinking that his captain really is very considerate.

Then he gets distracted by his fingers again. Kirk nudges him to drink more water a few minutes later.

“Are you sure alcohol doesn't affect you?” asks McCoy, interrupting an otherwise pleasant conversation about native Risan culture.

It's just like McCoy to bring up irrelevant questions. “Of course,” Spock says, missing his next attempt to pick up his glass. He stares at his fingers a moment, disconcerted, then carefully lifts the martini to his lips. The taste is sweet. He takes a long drink and frowns.

“...Well, as long as you're sure,” McCoy deadpans. Kirk looks up at the ceiling.

They leave shortly afterward, “Because _some_ of us prefer to get back before we're completely plastered,” says McCoy. It's the most logical thing he's said all night, though Spock is dubious of McCoy's ability to control himself in any regard.

Spock experiences an odd difficulty reaching the exit because the room keeps moving. It's an interesting architectural feature. McCoy's own brand of illogic seems to mesh well with this chaos, because he reaches the door with no problem, looking back and smirking as Kirk links arms with Spock.

“...Do you have any of those sobriety hypos on board, Bones?” Kirk asks.

“For shoreleave? Dozens. I didn't make any compatible with half-Vulcan biology, though.”

“Ah.”

As they walk toward the designated transporter spot, Spock ignores this strange conversation in favor of studying the numbness in his fingers.

“I believe my legs are longer,” Spock announces at last, disconcerted. His next attempt to walk results in his legs crossing, and he stumbles against the wall, then rests there a second. The physical solidity of the wall feels nice against the tingling-sensation that continues to spread throughout his side.

He can hear McCoy laughing somewhere far away. “We'll have to check later,” Kirk says, tugging at his arm. “Come on.”

They beam aboard. Spock walks to his room with Kirk at his side. McCoy says something about a hypo and nausea before going away. Thankfully without trying to press any of his unpleasant 'cures' onto either of them.

Spock's feeling oddly lethargic, but Kirk insists they play a few games of chess. So he obliges.

Spock loses.

Then he loses again, to his displeasure. At one point Kirk gently points out that “Pawns aren't meant to move backwards, Spock,” which is illogical. Spock says so. “My mistake,” Kirk laughs.

Spock loses again anyway.

“I think that's a sign you need another drink,” Kirk tells him.

“I am not thirsty,” Spock protests, but Kirk pours him more water anyway.

He loses another two games between Kirk's bizarre attempts to hydrate him, finally staring in bafflement at the board. He props his head on his folded hands, glaring down at the game before them while trying to determine the cause of these failures.

Then he notices Jim grinning even wider than before.

“Captain?” he wonders.

“Drink some more water, Spock.”

Spock is _still_ not thirsty, but Kirk is the captain, so he obliges the man's latest piece of illogic.

“I do not understand how you won,” he complains after.

“Maybe sleep on it,” Kirk advises. “I think you'll understand in the morning.”

It occurs to Spock, very belatedly, that it's late and Kirk is trying to nudge him out. An irrational wave of grief strikes him. Of course Kirk wants him to leave, he thinks. McCoy expressed skepticism about inviting him to go at all; doubtlessly Kirk didn't actually want to waste his shoreleave talking with Spock.

This makes sense, but it hurts anyway. He should leave. He wonders if T'Les would answer a call, but she won't want to speak with him, either.

This strange numbness over his skin suddenly feels less pleasant. He can barely will himself to move, even when Kirk says, “Are you still awake, Spock? Spock?”

Spock stands and abruptly finds himself leaning against the wall. Vaguely confused about this, he tries to push away Kirk's hand. “I apologize,” he says, even though apologies, too, are illogical.

Being illogical is not the same as being unnecessary.

“For what?” asks Kirk, not very concerned. “It's alright if you're drunk, Spock. Everyone overindulges occasionally.”

“I am sorry that you found me,” Spock says. “That I could not – do better. I should not be here. I apologize.”

A little alarm flashes through Kirk's face. “Spock,” he says, very slow. “What are you saying?”

“You are an excellent captain,” says Spock, a little sorrowful. Too good for him. “You should not need to help me. It is not a – “ he struggles to form his words, “ - a worthwhile endeavor.”

“...I think maybe you should stay here tonight,” says Kirk, more quietly. “Come on.”

Kirk guides him to the bed. Sits him down, an arm around his shoulder. It feels nice, especially through the heavy, numb tingling in his limbs. Spock intends to object, except instead he leans heavily against his friend. He has a vague notion that this isn't good, but it certainly feels nice, and anyway moving sounds like too much effort.

“You really had too many cocktails,” says Kirk by his ear. He sounds a little sad now. “Go to sleep, Spock.”

Spock does not _remember_ deciding to obey this order, but he does anyway.

* * *

Kirk very kindly does not dwell on Spock's lapse in judgment, sending him off the next morning with a reminder to eat something. McCoy, of course, has no similar compunctions, and his morning greeting accompanies a grinning suggestion for hangover remedies, to the great interest of a few nearby crewmen.

Spock ignores this advice. McCoy says, “So did you ever figure out if your legs magically grew longer?”

Spock decides it might be best to eat in his quarters today.

Specimen makes a nuisance of herself while he's there, begging shamelessly for some fruit she can't eat while Spock toys with his food. Spock has an eidetic memory, of course – it makes the haziness of the previous night even more disorienting. But he remembers enough.

It is not reasonable to burden the captain with his own philosophical difficulties. He will talk to T'Les and these invasive feelings will pass in time.

As they always do.

It is impossible to forget that Kirk was the one to find him after his suicide attempt. Concerned that his uncontrolled behavior may have revived unpleasant memories, Spock at last he resolves that he needs to apologize. He makes this attempt the next night when he meets Kirk for their usual chess-match.

Kirk listens to him with an odd sort of smile, then when Spock finishes, tells him, “You don't need to apologize for anything, Spock. And I hope you know you _can_ tell me if there's... something you want to talk about.”

Spock nods stiffly, but offers nothing more. After a minute Kirk changes the subject.

He does this by asking about Spock's family on Vulcan, and particularly his parent's endeavors to find him a bondmate.

Spock has no particularly encouraging news on this front, though Kirk seems oddly invested in learning about the last two candidates (a seventy-six year old xenobiologist, and a fifty-three year-old musician, respectively). The first only asked Spock an uncomfortable amount of questions about his genetic structure; the latter was decent company, but weirdly invested in abstract concepts like 'the music of the stars,' and 'the inner light of Silvanian clam-song.'

Spock is fairly certain they would not be compatible.

From there the conversation naturally moves to rumors about the captain's own romantic prowess.

“I know all the things people say about my yeomans,” says Kirk, irritated. “I've half a mind to start taking on men only, but that doesn't seem fair, hurting a woman's career just to prevent gossip...”

“It would not prevent gossip,” Spock points out. “I expect you would only create new rumors.”

“What, that I've suddenly started sleeping with men? You're probably right. I know there are enough ridiculous rumors about _us,_ even though that's - “

Kirk pauses, something odd coming over his face as he looks at Spock. The realization is plain in his eyes. Now sitting inches away, their game long abandoned, Kirk's hand nudging his knee...

“Sir?”

“...Even though that's ridiculous,” Kirk says, quieter. He squeezes Spock's knee, adding in a soft voice: “I've only ever preferred women. But I think some people find that hard to understand. Or believe, maybe.”

“It is illogical to deny what is, in fact, true.”

“Yes. Of course, of course it is. You have to know - ” Kirk suddenly clears his throat. “ - Anyway. Maybe the best solution is to get rid of the position of captain's yeoman. Just have everyone cycle duties.”

“That would prove something of a security risk,” Spock points out. But he's already trying to consider such an arrangement, mapping out work-schedules and shift changes in his mind. “However, perhaps if the work were only divided between two or three yeoman...”

* * *

Kirk avoids Spock for precisely three days, without explanation; then he returns to his previous friendly warmth without any changes in behavior.

Which is, honestly, about the best outcome Spock could expect. He knew his emotional lapses would become obvious to the captain eventually, if Kirk hadn't already realized his poorly-hidden desires. As long as their friendship remains, Spock trusts that this – like his many other secrets – can remain unspoken between them.

_Kaiidth._

* * *

Spock's sessions with his mind-healer on Vulcan have started to hold little resemblance to typical Vulcan treatments. On his homeworld mental disorders are most often treated with repeated melds, interspersed with mental exercises to regain emotional control and solidify healthy patterns of thought. A great deal of mental stress comes simply from burrowing into the same darkly repetitive, negative thoughts. Dismissing unhealthy ideas and recognizing flawed logic helps a great deal.

T'Les has used some of these techniques with him, of course, and will continue to do so. But with Spock on the _Enterprise_ they cannot meld regularly. This leaves the healer with a more time-consuming means of understanding his thoughts: talk-therapy.

T'Les always assures Spock that it is an additional challenge, but by no means a serious impediment to his healing. “Additionally,” she said once, “It may help in encouraging you to acknowledge your thoughts verbally.”

She's oddly persistent in these attempts to make Spock talk about _feelings._ As though this doesn't contradict nearly forty years of Vulcan conditioning.

He doesn't want to discuss his feelings toward Kirk.

During their next call they discuss his growing fatigue from the past weeks. His admission when he mistakenly – _mistakenly,_ of course – overindulged on Risa. T'Les asks many questions, but doesn't seem unduly concerned; it's not the first time his mental state has fluctuated.

But she is very interested in his personal relationships. And Kirk, specifically. “You do not believe that your inclinations toward him may contribute to your stress?” she asks when Spock admits that he heavily suspects the captain to be aware of his regard.

“I do not. He is unlikely to change his behavior.”

“That does not necessarily make the experience easier for you to endure.”

“I have greatly respected Captain Kirk since I boarded the _Enterprise,”_ Spock says. “I struggled even to feel friendship toward him; I do not see how this is different. I can withstand his rejection of any more romantic relationship, with the knowledge that it will not change our friendship.”

“Such an arrangement,” T'Les opines, “May be more difficult to bear than you realize.”

“Of all the factors which contribute to my mental difficulties,” Spock says, “I would not consider an unfortunate attraction to have any significance.”

* * *

  1. **Kirk**




* * *

Kirk finds himself a bit worried about Spock as they depart Risa.

Unfortunately this has become a familiar feeling over the past year – but it's becoming more rare. After their mission to Altair he'd felt a sense of uselessness everytime he looked at his First Officer – a horrible need to _do something,_ mixing with the knowledge that there's no way to battle an ailment of the mind.

Even if Spock were inclined to let him.

So he did the one thing he could; Kirk learned to pay attention to every subtle indication of the Vulcan's mood, to distinguish when Spock lied about being fine.

Which is precisely why Kirk is so concerned.

These past months Spock has excelled in his duties, and personally seems much more settled. Content. For weeks, then months, Kirk could forget what happened. It's funny how the human mind works – how a threat can disappear from his mind just because it isn't visible.

There's nothing Kirk can specifically point out as worrying – at least not until the blatant red-flag yesterday. But Kirk's been unusually uneasy for a few weeks, now, and it suddenly occurs to him that it's been about a year since Spock tried to kill himself.

He never did learn why Spock picked that day, that moment. Was it significant? An anniversary, or, heck, maybe there's a specific day Vulcans prefer for suicide.

He doesn't know. And James Kirk hates not knowing.

What he does know is that Spock said very worrying things while drunk. He also, well, _got drunk_ \- but Kirk is tentatively willing to believe – or hope - that he genuinely misjudged his physiological reaction to alcohol.

No. His words were far more concerning. Which is how he finds himself here, in McCoy's office, hedging around what he needs to say while Bones grows increasingly annoyed.

“Just spit it out already, will you? I'm getting nervous just looking at you,” McCoy says. “Just tell me the _Potemkin_ ain't really asking for me to transfer; their captain is a nutjob.”

“Ah – no,” says Kirk, who really needs to hear the story behind _that_ assumption. Later. “It's about Spock, yesterday - “

“Lord, don't tell me he's got alcohol poisoning,” McCoy snorts. But the doctor's good-humor fades as Kirk relays the confused, ominous things Spock said the previous night.

With anyone else Kirk would consider this a violation of Spock's privacy; it still makes him uneasy. But Bones is the ship's CMO, and that means it's his job to monitor the crew's mental well-being.

“Well, hell,” says McCoy when he finishes. “You think he's gonna do anything?”

“No,” says Kirk, not very certain. McCoy frowns. “No. I don't think it was that serious, it's just...” This next piece of information _isn't_ something he should strictly be discussing – especially since he hasn't even talked to Spock yet. “Admiral Nguyen called two days ago. He wants to offer Spock captaincy of the _USS Sojourner._ ”

Eyebrows raised, Bones leans back. “Well, damn. That's galaxy-class, right? You don't think he's up to it?”

“Of course he can do it,” says Kirk, not even hesitating. “But I'm afraid of how much stress it would put on him. And I'm concerned he's going to refuse.”

“Alright, now you've lost me. You want him to accept or not?”

“He has to accept,” says Kirk. “For the sake of his career it's the only real option. I suppose I'm just worried. If he goes off somewhere no one knows him, alone...”

Kirk trails off. The words sound more and more ridiculous as he says them. Spock a grown man, and it's the nature of the service for people to get separated from their friends.

But then, most officers aren't a suicide risk.

“You're making a lot of assumptions,” says McCoy, unconcerned. “What makes you so damn sure he'll accept, anyhow? He's been offered captaincies before, hasn't he?”

“And he's going to ruin his career if he keeps saying no.”

“Yeah, well, so what? There are bigger priorities, and he's got a right to think about what he needs first.”

Kirk straightens, alarmed. “Bones, do _you_ think he's - “

“ _No._ Dammit, Jim, calm down and listen. Spock's fine, as far as I know – all I'm saying is, there's more to consider than a man's _career._ Hell, Spock's got any choice of job he wants. He could take a research post anywhere from here to Denobula, go private, get into – politics or music or whatever the hell – it's not like he's hurting for a professional step-up. If Spock wants a captaincy, he'll get one.”

“It would look better on his record - “

“Who cares?” McCoy demands. “Does he even want his own ship, ever? Spock might act like he's got as much feeling as a lump of dirt, but at the end of the day I think he's _happy_ here. Don't bully him into giving that up. God knows that man needs to prioritize what he actually wants once in a blue moon.”

Kirk slowly leans back in his chair, brow furrowed. “I just – sometimes I'm worried he's only here for me,” he admits, rueful. “To be my first officer. Maybe that's self-centered – I just don't want him to realize he's wasting his life here, or giving up opportunities.”

McCoy snorts. “He's a Vulcan. Give him another four decades and he'll _still_ be young. He'll figure out what he wants in his own time, Jim, but you can't decide for him.”

* * *

The next few days pass... normally. The _Enterprise_ checks up on a research station at the edge of Federation space with absolutely no irregularities. They survey two planets and the Science Departments composes an enthusiastic recommendation to have one of them considered for colonization.

Kirk gets a rather pointed prod from Admiral Nguyen. He can't procrastinate anymore; Kirk asks Spock to meet him privately after shift.

This is hardly unusual, but Spock straightens a bit when he enters Kirk's quarters to find him sitting the desk, datapadd in front of him and unusually solemn.

“You refused the captaincy of the _Sojourner_ ,” Kirk says.

Spock sits.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The word is hard, challenging. As though Spock has done something worth defending. “Because I did not want it,” he says.

Kirk clenches his jaw.

Honestly – he can't understand that sort of attitude. Who wouldn't want command? Kirk sometimes chafes even at the rare orders from Starfleet's admiralty. To have a ship that obeys his word – he can move worlds, can influence events and make a mark, and it all happens according to his decisions. Kirk accepts that this is sometimes – often – a burden. But he needs to effect change. He needs to leave a mark, to _help,_ to do things that will be significant when he's gone.

He doesn't understand how anyone wouldn't want the same.

And maybe that's unfair. God knows Spock's own academic endeavors merit entire books of study. But how can he just throw away the opportunity Starfleet offers? When Kirk received his own captaincy he felt the future open in front of him.

He won't deprive his best friend of that same experience – no matter how much he wants Spock at his side.

“You want it,” he says at last. “You must, Spock. If you really understand - “

“I do not want it.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Then I believe we are at an impasse, Sir. I do not see how I can convince you.”

Kirk mulls this over, anger and relief warring within him. He doesn't want Spock to leave. But that's selfish. It must be selfish.

“You can show me,” he realizes.

Spock quirks an eyebrow. “Captain?”

It's a bit of a crazy thing to ask – definitely invasive. Maybe inappropriate; he's never gotten a good sense of how Vulcans view the matter.

But.

More than the issue of Spock's career is at stake. Kirk remembers past mind-melds they've shared. Things always slip by; he was able to catch glimpses of Spock's thoughts, his mood. In the middle of a mission there was usually too much tension for anything private to trickle in, but.

It's been exactly a year today.

“Meld with me.”

Thankfully, Spock doesn't appear offended by this request; just confused. “I would not be opposed, Sir – but that does seem an excessive response. It is my understanding that humans only care to submit to melds under dire circumstances.”

That seems like a shame. “I've always found the experience interesting.”

“I should not be surprised, Sir. You rarely comply with expectations.”

It's said with such a note of fondness that Kirk can't be offended. His lips twitch. “Please, Spock. If it's too much to ask, say so. But I just want to know you're not making a mistake.”

He's seen the depths of Spock's loyalty. In stardate 3012.4 he disobeyed a general order, under threat of execution, just to take the disabled Captain Pike to a place where he'd be able to run and talk and live. It's not hard to imagine that he'd throw away his career for Kirk.

Spock considers him. “It will be an uncontrolled experience. In past melds I have examined your mind, or guided it – you were a passive participant. Humans lack the sensibilities to properly perceive telepathy. You may not fully understand what I show you, and it will be difficult to use precision.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

A wry eyebrow is raise: “You could choose to believe me, Sir.”

Ah. Right.

That's definitely not going to happen.

Spock instructs him to sit, so Kirk does. Spock settles his fingers in a wide-splayed grasp that drifts over Kirk's jaw his cheek, his temple.

And then Kirk drifts, barely registering Spock's cool touch past the starlight bursting before his eyes. There's no clear order to the things he sees. Perceptions simply trickle in, flicking gently over his memory like a word half-forgotten. Something he's been trying to recall.

He leans closer to Spock, and sees:

Orders are a comfort. Sometimes Spock doesn't know what to do, but Kirk is there, firm and confident, and he doesn't have to wonder. He only has to obey, and if he disagrees he can voice his opinion - but the responsibility belongs to someone else. He follows commands and feels no guilt, because Kirk made the decision, so he trusts that no one could have done better -

Sometimes people look at Spock and want answers, guidance. He understands this because he is also confused. Always. He does his best to offer advice but it feels almost counterproductive when Spock flounders in the face of strife. But he does the best he can -

Science is easy. Spock understands numbers and the reasons behind a _cause_ and a _reaction._ At least, he understands nature, the physical world. People are much more complicated. They scheme and smile when really they hate him. Spock does not understand people. But that's alright, because Kirk does, so Spock only needs to be prepared to act when things go wrong -

Because Kirk is able to find a way out of any situation. Kirk does not have his skills in the sciences, maybe. That makes sense, because Spock studies and devotes himself to science every day; he does not doubt that Kirk could rival Spock if he wanted.

But Kirk isn't limited to a single field. He charms and delights foreign leaders. He understands enough of science to be deadly. He comprehends battle tactics and the motivations of leaders. He understands the people on the _Enterprise,_ the things that make them hurt and celebrate and obey.

Spock does not.

People don't always trust him. This is fair, because Spock doesn't trust himself. Sometimes he thinks everything he touches is doomed to failure. It's an illogical thought, but maybe that only means he hasn't been able to map out the reasons it's true. But Kirk is the opposite – he emboldens people, he cultivates trust and respect. And it still shocks Spock, quite often, that such a man seems to think so highly of him. Probably because humans are illogical; the captain can't be blamed for this minor discrepancy.

(He loves Kirk, and it isn't returned, which is not surprising. He is Vulcan. He controls his emotions, so none of this is relevant.)

So of course, of course he refused the captaincy. He doesn't want command. And he _likes_ working on the Enterprise, where he is known and comfortable, where people smile at him in the halls, where Uhura invites him to lunch and Mr. Scott bullies him into helping with engine repairs as some sort of incomprehensible bonding exercise. All of that is much better than a power he doesn't want, responsibility for lives he can never understand.

Kirk can't quite grasp these things. Even in Spock's mind, the thoughts slip through his fingers like liquid – a brief impression that touches him only an instant before vanishing. Human minds are not meant for telepathy.

But by the time Spock pulls away, he understands enough.

He knows that Spock hurts, but he's also content. He feels his friend's unspoken emotions like bruises in his skull – an aching loneliness chipping away at desperate tranquility, faltering confidence. The contradictions are dizzying. He can see that Spock is not wholly at peace. But he's alright. Improving. Maybe that's the best anyone can hope for.

And he sees, also, how much Spock doesn't want to leave. Doesn't want to leave the _Enterprise –_ doesn't want to leave Kirk. He finally grasps what an abhorrent thing it would be, forcing him to do so.

Kirk barely recognizes the golden, flattering perspective of himself inside Spock's mind. Doesn't know what he did to deserve such loyalty from the most worthy man he's ever met. But all he can do is try to live up to it – and keep an eye on his friend.

He hopes Spock never has reason to regret this decision.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine years post All-Amok. Spock, contemplating a teaching position with Starfleet Academy, meets a newly graduated Vulcan lieutenant he knew as a child.

Spock joined Starfleet to spite the Vulcan Science Academy. Recently, he's been informed that his career has encouraged an ongoing influx of Vulcan recruits.

Spock is still unsure whether this is a good thing.

The cadet assigned to show Spock to his office meets him at the Academy entrance. She seems half-stiff with terror, voice hitching or stuttering intermittently as she gives a rambling commentary on the Academy. Her spiel is interspersed with, “but, er, I'm sure you knew that already - “

Spock could scarcely be unaware of the impressive reputation he's garnered over recent years. New scientists on the _Enterprise_ sometimes reacted with similar trepidation, especially the younger ones. He distinctly recalls a twenty-two year-old ensign finding abrupt reasons to flee the room whenever he approached, which made it rather difficult to work with him.

So Spock politely ignores the cadet's stuttering in favor of appreciating the changes to Starfleet Academy. When Spock came here as a cadet he was mostly overwhelmed by its differences to Vulcan. Of course he visited a number of worlds in his youth – Spock accompanied his father on numerous diplomatic assignments – but that usually entailed staying on a starship, or designated diplomatic quarters, where he was always handled with the utmost of professional courtesy.

Living in the center of a noisy, chaotic city of humans was quite different. Spock was fortunately permitted to live in an apartment off-campus in his first year - as an unusual concession to his Vulcan telepathy and privacy needs – but he still spent the first summer as a plebe in the dorms, wakened every morning by screaming senior cadets whose goal was to startle and disorient.

Vulcans are not easily perturbed; when they are, it is not visible. Spock's cadet supervisors took this as a challenge. He remains unimpressed with that abusive introduction to military structure. The first weeks were almost enough to make him quit – not because he was truly stressed by the chaotic environment, but rather because such teaching tactics disgusted him on a visceral level. It made Spock recall all his father's criticisms against Starfleet. So he doubted.

But though Starfleet is a military, it is primarily an organization aimed at exploration, diplomacy, and scientific advancement. After the first grueling weeks weeded out those unable to endure the stress of a military life, general classes began in a style similar to what could be expected at any Earth university of learning.

This meant, in short, that Spock rapidly grew bored. He had to invent his own goals and projects to make efficient use of his time.

He recognizes the vast majority of campus buildings as he trails an anxious Cadet Parsamyan. There, at the political skills building, he once took a rather frustrating class on public speaking. The instructor was continually exasperated with his lack of intonation.

He sees the library has been expanded again. There's a new elevated walkway alongside the path they're taking; Spock eventually deduces it must be used to accommodate smaller species.

Cadets stare as Spock passes. Whisper behind their hands. He is accustomed to this, and so ignores it. Spock hopes his own classes will behave with more decorum.

The _Enterprise's_ second* five-year mission ended just two weeks ago. Kirk's already angling for a third despite the Admiralty's blatant hints about promotion. Many of their best officers have already accepted higher posts elsewhere. Chekov transferred two months ago to act as the _Reliant_ 's first officer. Mr. Sulu will soon find himself Captain of the _Excelsior,_ though Spock isn't even sure Sulu has been informed of that fact yet. Uhura might remain – now a Commander herself – but she's also been offered two different positions, one a comfortable minor command overseeing communications to the starbase orbiting Earth.

Even if Kirk manages to avoid promotion, the _Enterprise_ would be a very different place upon their return.

But that is a worry for the future. The ship's refit – overseen by Mr. Scott – will take close to two years. Spock has every intention of returning to that ship in the event Kirk's efforts succeed – despite the increasingly frequent offers for his own promotion – so they've both acquired interim teaching assignments at the Academy.

A prospect which, apparently, excited the campus staff enough that all talks of captaining a research ship have been blessedly postponed.

For the moment.

Cadet Parsamyan finally leads Spock through the familiar Theoretical Sciences building to his new office. It's empty and neat; Spock will need to meet with the department head tomorrow. Humans and other species are fond of 'settling-in' phases, though he believes the department head is actually Iberian.

“You can, um, talk to the Ops staff outside if you need to requisition anything.” She waves vaguely in the direction of the main office.

“Thank you, Cadet.”

Taking this as a dismissal, Parsamyan nods and flees immediately.

Spock blinks after her a minutes. Outside he can hear a low murmur of voices from surrounding offices. The clatter of typing. Small noises of movement. It seems an uninspiring location, he thinks, when he will spend hours here every week.

His office is fairly large, but empty. There's a whiteboard on one wall, a digital display on the other. A desk, with cabinets behind it and half a dozen drawers. The space is not _quite_ empty. After a brief inspection he clears out some forgotten detritus from one of the cabinets. This includes pens, napkins, several hundred forgotten paperclips and sticky notes, as well as a bottle of alarming liquid in a vial which he tentatively decides is probably not a biohazard.

Spock is just starting to sort out the few belongings he brought with him when someone enters.

It is not the half-expected Iberian department head. It's a Vulcan. A Vulcan wearing science blues, ranked lieutenant.

And Spock knows him.

“Lieutenant Rekal,” he says, eyeing the man's marks of rank; he did not realize there were anu other Vulcans in active service. “Did you need something?"

Rekal steps up to the desk and stands at careful parade-rest. Spock stands as well.

He knew Rekal as a child, though only briefly. He was present when Spock's teacher for survival courses - T'Sara - allowed a venomous snake to bite him, refusing to summon medical aid**. Rekal was six and held his hand while Spock slowly bled and weakened. Rekal sent him comforting thoughts through that touch.

Spock remembers thinking it very kind of him, to console a dying child.

And as though reading his thoughts, Rekal says, “Commander. Forgive my intrusion; if you have a moment I wish to discuss the first day of our acquaintance.”

“I do not understand your logic in doing so.”

“It is not my intention to resurrect unpleasant memories,” Rekal says. “If you do not wish to discuss the incident, say as much, and I will leave.”

“...I am curious to hear your reasoning in coming here,” Spock admits.

Apparently reassured, Rekal takes another step forward. His hands stay folded and rigid behind his back. “I find it necessary to apologize,” he says, “for my lack of action during the events that took place in our first _kahs-wan_ lesson. I am aware that it is illogical to dwell on moments that occurred forty years ago; nevertheless I believe you should know that the instructor's xenophobic sentiments were not shared among the class.”

Spock is genuinely baffled by this.

Rekal's kindness was actually unusual, even at the time. Spock's sixth year of childhood was mostly unpleasant, because his peers were starting to become old enough to heed their parents words. So they marked him different. They asked him invasive questions and decided his humanity made him lesser, because what they knew of humans was full of unpleasant, alien stereotypes. Some of them openly said he did not belong on Vulcan.

This bullying increased slightly as they entered communal classes in his next several years, with students becoming more aware of his differences. But it mostly faded when he was a teenager. Spock is still unsure if this is because his peers developed moral perspectives at-odds with such discrimination or whether they simply considered blatant harassment childish.

But Rekal held his hand. Spock cannot comprehend how this is viewed as a failing, nor how it is worthy of an apology.

“You are not at fault for the instructor's behavior,” he says. “You were a child as well.”

“Yes,” says Rekal. “I am not at fault for her actions during that lesson. But I did not report her actions later.”

“...You were six,” says Spock. He thinks about the pain in his ankle. Wondering what he did to deserve the teacher's disregard. Tears pricking at his eyes, thinking, _I should have paid attention. I should have noticed the snake before being bitten._

He was only six.

“You continued coming to class,” Rekal says. “And I said nothing. The teacher continued to target you, and we all said nothing. It was not appropriate. Nor logical, to ignore such a disparity of treatment.”

Spock, for a long time, can think of nothing to say to this. Rekal simply waits, stiff and solemn, his dark eyes watching Spock.

He has grown into a broad-shouldered, attractive man. The attention is thus doubly-distracting.

“Your sentiment is not necessary,” says Spock at last. “...But it is appreciated.”

Rekal bows his head. “I have an interest in your work,” he offers. “May I return tomorrow?”

They arrange a time to converse. When Rekal leaves Spock sits down in his chair and contemplates the desk. People occasionally walk past the windows of his office, peering in; he does not notice.

His chest hurts. And he feels, simultaneously, great relief. Spock will need to meditate on these sensations later.

* * *

  
“So – what do you think of your classes, Professor Spock?” Kirk teases.

“I expect you do not want anyone to call _you_ Professor. Captain.”

“I don't know – there's a certain dignity to it, don't you think?” Kirk smiles. “I don't think I'll get used to the way cadets... _look_ at us, though.”

“Indeed.”

Even now, just walking around campus, they're the subject of speculation. Spock notes cadets twisting their necks to follow the pair's steps. It's...

Uncomfortable. Spock's career has been eventful, but surely it doesn't warrant this attention?

“Well,” says Kirk. “At least there are some benefits. I have a date with a wonderful lady tomorrow. Antonia. Maybe she'll be the one who stays around.”

“Doubtful,” Spock deadpans. Kirk elbows him, grinning faintly.

By this point in his life Spock barely notices when Kirk absconds on some new conquest. They are always temporary, and anyway, it seems that his feelings have scarred over. Spock prefers to think he no longer _cares_ if Kirk looks elsewhere for romance.

But the truth is that he has just become accustomed to it.

“I know we'll only be here two years,” Kirk states. “And I wouldn't want to be away from the _Enterprise_ any longer. But it's nice to be on Earth, isn't it?”

Spock finally surveys his surrounding. The soft blue sky, the bright yellow sun. Cadets in starter-red milling around campus. He can feel excitement, apprehension, delight, and fatigue all milling through his telepathic senses. It is a world foreign to him since his own days as a cadet. A place he never really understood.

It is -

“I agree,” Spock says, despite the sudden doubt gripping cold over his spine. “Earth will be an interesting site for future work. I am sure we will both be satisfied with our time here.”

Kirk smiles. Squeezes his shoulder. And the planet continues to revolve.

Spock hopes he will not be proven a liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, I know Spock would have had another pon farr in this time - this will be addressed in the sequel.  
> **A reference to chapter 13 of All Amok.


End file.
